To Bite the Bullet
by Caelta
Summary: On the grounds of curing his bloodlust, Tesla pays Magnus a visit in which control is lost, discoveries are made, and bargains are destined not to be kept.


Why, yes. Against my better judgement, I have decided to sink my teeth into the wonders of Teslen. (Pun very much intended. Can you blame me?) Therefore, if you're reading this, then we're already off to a great start. And if you continue to read it, that's even better. And if you go so far as to review, it will make me an indescribably happy person. I can't thank you guys enough. That being said, I left the timeline in this relatively up to speculation as long as it's within the believable range of somewhere after the source blood incident and somewhere before season one's "The Five." On a side note, I apologize if the dialogue is a little anachronistic because I didn't change it out of respect for staying true to the personality of the characters. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own. Plain and simple.

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><p>Even arrogance, it seemed, had its limits.<p>

Killing, or rather murder, just might have been one of them.

Though he'd never put much stock into Helen's very preservationist little charity organization and her attitude towards the concept of coexistence, he had to admit that he found himself considering her part-time zookeeper efforts as a more effective alternative—perhaps because he found himself toying more and more with the prospect that he himself belonged in a zoo.

Not to cast his formidable ancestors in a bad light, any metaphysical higher power in questionable existence willing, he etherealized them with the highest regard.

He'd always loved the thrill of the hunt and the artistic pleasure of the kill, core satisfactions aside, and to think anything as positively pathetic as the police would get in his way was quite the joke.

No, blood on his hands and authority weren't the problem. Besides, Helen always had gotten her kicks out of misunderstood serial killers, hadn't she? Competing with good old Jack the Ripper was more of a passing nod, a hopeful benefit—there was plenty for the both of them.

The _real_ crux of the matter was that Nikola Tesla prized his control and prided himself in his strict adherence to discipline. Each kill was calculated, and he'd even go so far as to say an ingenious sort of beautiful of which his carefully selected victims were hardly deserving of a part in. Of course, he could expect no less of himself.

Each word he said had thought and intent: never a careless remark.

He didn't even have to account for the de-rationalizing effects presented by alcohol, thanks to his condition.

But the truth of the matter was that there was indeed a catch that came with all the glory of vampirism, and it was the hunger. Although he killed as artfully and masterfully as he could, it was only a matter of controlling the uncontrollable. It took a long time to be able to admit this to himself, but the regrettable fact of the matter was that his _bloodlust_ controlled _him_.

The day this became apparent was the day he looked at Helen Magnus and realized he desired what pulsed throughout her veins more than he desired _her_.

It unnerved him, dare he say scared him, how easily the influence bent him.

Thus, Nikola Tesla was humbled.

And, he decided, enough was enough. He'd had his fun.

/

A knock on the door, insistent, startled her awake.

Before thrusting the book she'd been reading off of her lap, she noted the glowing coals of a once healthy fire and realized with surprise that several hours had to have passed. It must have been two in the morning, at the very least.

Who in the bloody hell…?

She grabbed the fire-poker on the way to the door, just in case.

When she swung it open, however cautiously, she soon found that her impromptu weapon was not needed.

"A fire-poker, Helen? Really?" scoffed Nikola, seeing it hidden behind her back. "Planning on knocking my brains out, are we? Now, I'm hurt. I really was expecting such a wonderful welcome."

Before she could even being to make a comment, he held up a finger. "Oh! And I brought you a present."

She started with disgust when what dropped from his blood-soaked hands was a small, mangled animal: from the size of it, a cat.

"Nikola!" Helen finally sputtered out. "Dear God, what on earth…?"

He grinned devilishly, ever the charmer. "Happy to see me?" His grin faded. "Oh, you don't like it? Well, that's disappointing. I did have you pegged as a cat person."

As he took the dead creature and kicked it shamelessly into a bush, she could only gape.

"What is all this? Why are you here?" There was always a reason.

"I can't simply visit a dear, old friend of mine?" Her pointed look detailing that it was _quite past visiting hours, thank you_ piqued in him a semblance of reason. "Alright, fine. I…need your help."

Naturally.

He stepped over the threshold of the door and she shut it, leading him back to her spot by the fire. When she indicated the seat across from her, he seated himself at her side instead, winding an arm around her shoulders effortlessly.

"Well, isn't this cozy."

"Out with it."

Face dropping into seriousness, he took a second to answer.

"You see, I may have run into a bit of a predicament." Suddenly, after her look of insistence, he shifted away from her. "I…would like to stop killing people."

That surprised her. "You realize that is a difficult endeavor?"

"Difficult, but not impossible. That's why I'm here."

It was like John all over again.

Feeling like she was somehow giving in to what could potentially end up a very bad idea, she said: "What is it you're after?"

That awarded her a smirk.

"Well, for starters, your father's wine collection. Possible your chastity if it's available and I may be so bold. But, oh, you mean my predicament."

Sighing regretfully, she wondered how long he was planning on staying. She wasn't sure how much of this she could stomach.

"Don't look so thrilled," Tesla remarked. "Now, there must be some way to eradicate this unpleasant little side-effect. After all, the vamps had humans enslaved for centuries, and it isn't like they picked them off for slaughter, is it? Of course, they made sacrifices, but at the rate I'm talking humans would have been extinct in a few decades, helpless as they were."

"I thought you were a genius?" she challenged amicably.

He shrugged. "Your specialty lies more in physiology and biology than electricity; I was hoping you might prove helpful."

"Anything I have to offer, you have it." As soon as she said it, she steeled herself for his response.

"Is that so? _Anything_?"

"Don't."

Put in his place for the umpteenth time, he crossed his ankles and deliberated. "Forgive me, how are you and dear Johnny?"

Even after this time, his words helped her place an ache that had existed in her chest for far too long. She winced.

"Ah, I sense distress. Having a bit of a spat? Being a cold-blooded killer does tend to put a damper on things, doesn't it?"

That was too much.

"Nikola, do _not _test me. You've made your point."

Dipping his head in what she hoped was a minute amount of shame, he shook his head a little derisively at himself. "That was a tad cruel, wasn't it? You have my apology. You see, I just can't help myself around you."

A roll of her eyes told him to back off. "Nikola, _please._"

He gave a knowing smile. "Right, right. In any case, you might find it to be of interest to you that I've recently taken to sating myself on the blood of our furry friends."

"Only strays, I hope."

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a savior complex, my dear?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a god complex?"

At that, he snickered. "Oh, Helen, you always were my favorite."

The sound of his laugh caught her a little off-guard; she found she was smiling with him in spite of herself. To distract herself, she moved to serve each of them a cup of tea, allowing him his customary six sugars.

"So, how is your new diet treating you?"

"To be frank, I wouldn't recommend it. It disagrees with me. Makes my stomach turn. Won't you get rid of my tummy aches, Helen?"

Ignoring him as only a well-trained expert could do, she thought. What was it specifically about human blood that he needed above all else? The iron concentration? Too simple. Biologically, it didn't make sense.

"I believe I'm going to have to run a few tests."

His next smile was devious. "By all means, if there is at all the possibility of physical examination, I am at your mercy."

"Nikola, you're becoming crude. Please don't patronize me."

"Must you ruin my fun? Alright, when shall I expect these tests of your to occur?"

"Tomorrow," she said. "Right now, we both need to rest."

Just having to put up with his constant banter was enough to thoroughly exhaust her, and she was sure that he'd most likely been leaping about all night in his attempts to procure a suitable meal before his arrival.

Needless to say, they were both tired.

/

Perhaps the invasion of privacy could be considered a crime, but he liked to consider it a privilege.

To pick the lock was flawlessly easy; it was begging for it, really.

And she was breathtaking, even in sleep.

Her sheets were twisted around her prone form in a defiance of ordinance contradictory to her waking life, and he deemed this undeniably attractive. The magnificent glow on her skin from the fire was equally pleasing; he couldn't quite resist a gentle brush to one of the golden ringlets along the contour of her face.

Ever so gently, not daring to touch her, he laid himself at her side. Perhaps the proximity alone would be enough, he hoped, to satisfy.

Detecting a shift in weight, she accommodated almost unconsciously, turning to face him and fisting his shirt. It was too good to be true.

Banking on five seconds, he was frozen in disbelief until she exhaled something that sounded suspiciously like "John."

Well, he hated to break it to her, but he wasn't exactly extremely tall and bald.

Not without a hint of self-service, he decided to remain this way for at least a little while longer: no sense in disturbing her, yet. She was actually quite warm, which came as a small surprise in light of her distant and reserved nature. He'd known it all along, though, how soft she was.

Because this was probably the only time in his very long lifetime that this moment would ever take place, he made sure to memorize as much of it as he could.

With the sound of her heartbeat amplified to his senses, he ignored the sudden itch to sink teeth into flesh and concentrated instead on her breathing. He could feel it tickling her neck from where her head was buried somewhere in his shoulder, and for a good ten minutes he allowed this to lull him into a state of half-sleep. When he wasn't fighting the inclination to such the life out of her, it was actually rather relaxing.

He awoke some time later with no viable indication of what time had passed, realizing with a jolt that he'd actually been asleep.

The vampire in love with the human; oh, how sickly tragic it was, how fatally romantic. Maybe he'd write a book about it. Maybe he'd title it How to Play with Your Food. That seemed inappropriately appropriate.

Though clearly disinclined to the idea, he decided to move away.

What he didn't account for was her pulling him back with the unconvincing protest of "John."

Obviously, he wasn't wanted.

Leaning into her closer than either of them might have deemed safe given his condition, he hesitated to deliver his line. The pulse of her carotid drew him in, and he traced its length with a fixation that was entirely unhealthy for either party.

How far was he willing to take this?

Perhaps a chaste kiss?

The feel of her warmth, the rush and pressure of the river in her veins, in her artery, just below her skin, just beneath his lips…it made him swallow for two separate reasons entirely. And he wasn't precisely sure which reason took the most precedence, at that point.

Before he could do any more damage, he whispered to her: "Guess again."

Within under three seconds, she had him pinned to the bed under her weight in a wrestling vice, sizing him up. Judging by her expression, it was a reflex reaction; it took her an extra two seconds to recognize him and exhale.

Even if he wasn't particularly trying, the thought of a woman who could best him, as she most definitely could, was unbelievably erotic.

"Oh, I like where this is going," he crooned through a toothy grin.

"Nikola!" Helen exclaimed breathily. "What in God's name are you doing?"

"Nothing innocent, I assure you. Although, can I just say—you look ravishing."

In the next instant, her mind was made; her jaw set and her eyes flashed. "Get out."

"So soon? But it was going so well."

"_Now_."

"I was having nightmares."

"Nikola, you _are_ a nightmare."

"Oh, you don't mean that."

She shepherded him to the door, practically shoving him out of it, and he had no choice but to back up.

Rather unceremoniously, said door was shut—slammed, rather—in his face.

"Good_night_, Nikola."

It was then that he decided she needed a better version of security apparatus.

/

As frustrating as it was, he was the only hybrid vampire…the only _vampire_ that human civilization had encountered in centuries. Research was incredibly difficult to come by, and knowledge at a biological level was even more scarce.

She was working blind, and fairytales were hardly a reliable source.

Why did he need blood? _Did_ he need blood?

His own bloodwork was so remarkably similar to a human's, to hers, that even vampirism could be nearly impossible to detect beyond the genetic level.

He was watching her, too: staring, and she felt his eyes move over her while she worked. It did nothing to quell her rising frustration.

Perhaps it would prove fruitless, but she'd been starving him in the last couple of days with the purpose of cleansing his system before flooding it in hopes of catching his metabolism at work, to see where the balance lay. That had to be a shot in the dark, though, due to the fact that she wasn't even sure it was his metabolism she should have been looking at.

There were other possibilities she had to take into account. Such as: perhaps it was a developmental stage, an aspect that would improve over time. Or maybe blood acted a lot more like an addictive agent, a drug, than a nutritional substance. It would certainly explain the cravings.

"If I may," a hand on her shoulder made her jump, and she spun on her heel only to find that Tesla was no longer watching her from afar. "I'd say a small recess is in order."

Despite the best of her patience, it was a bit insulting.

"You came to me, and I fully intend to honor that request."

"Helen—"

"No, it's alright. I can take care of myself."

"Oh, is that right? So, is that the reason you haven't eaten in the last, say, twenty-four hours?"

"Nikola, really, don't—"

He reached past her and set a mug on the counter, smiling smugly. "Oolong. Hint of lemon. You're welcome."

Common sense gave her the ability to see past the ego to the concern, and it made her melt a little. His offer was tempting, and the gesture was thoughtful.

"This is very nice of you. I appreciate it, I really do, but—"

"But," he interrupted her, waving a finger, "nothing. Don't be so insolent. You're tired and you haven't eaten and it shows. Your determination on overworking yourself is touching, Helen. Truly, you'd do that for me?"

Damn him, but it was nigh impossible to tell when he was being sincere.

"I—" she was at a loss.

"Come on," he enticed, giving her his best smile. "I promise I'll make it fun."

_That_, under any circumstance, was worthy of a good quantity of suspicion. She should have known better, but she could feel herself giving in.

The warmth from the mug in her hands was starting to seep through her fingers to the rest of her body, and now that he mentioned it, she was feeling a little weary of all this. What could half an hour hurt?

"Alright, you may be right."

"Of course I'm right." He couldn't hide the way his face lit up when she said it, though, practically worthy of Indonesian fire elemental standards.

It was cute, in a way. She had to remind herself that he was a vampire, a murderer, and a reputable genius with a solid variety of hidden agendas at any given moment.

"So," he beamed, "how do pancakes sound?"

/

"How are you feeling?"

Coming from her, it was somewhat comical.

"Well, that depends, doesn't it? Would you like an in-depth analysis of my state of health or a systematic breakdown of my state of mind? Perhaps both? Your choice."

"Just…the short answer, please." She sounded sorry to have asked.

From his sitting position, he exposed a single claw to stab into the flesh of the apple in his other hand. While he talked, he carved.

"Weak." _Snap_. "Tired." _Slice._ "Enamored." _Drip_.

At the last word, he sent her a pointed glance that she didn't miss. She focused on him in clarity, a bit taken aback, and her eyes were so blue in that moment he could almost _taste_ it.

"I'm weak, Helen. I'm hungry. If you're quite through with your little experiments, my strength is starting to slip. I have a migraine. My head is splitting in half, I know it. I'm falling apart, here, and I'm so in love with you I can't stand it. Does that clarify the situation for you?"

He tossed her his end product, a sticky rose head, and licked the juice from his fingers as she caught his throw flawlessly and gracefully from across her desk. For some reason he didn't bother attempting to comprehend, she looked rather amused.

"Nikola," said Helen. The sound of his name from her lips never got old. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're moody."

"I'd say that's what happens when you don't feed a vampire."

The look she gave him exuded compassion. So blue.

She got up to approach him, supplying him with a sizeable proportion of her scent in his nostrils before she even got close enough to touch him. His senses were heightened and on edge; he had to put real effort towards stopping himself from acting on shameful thoughts.

"I'm so sorry, Nikola," she soothed. "I know what this must feel like. If there was any other way…"

He stopped listening the second her hands touched his shoulders, like magic, there _was_ a God so long as she didn't stop.

"I forgive you," he said in rapture.

Intriguingly, she couldn't quite contain a laugh.

She should laugh more often, he realized. He made a goal of it; he would be the one to make her laugh.

"You're having some kind of withdrawal," she told him, "and I believe it's been long enough. It's time to take you hunting."

/

He was pale with dilated pupils and a waning supply of mockery: a sure sign that they'd waited long enough.

Though she hated to do this to him, there didn't seem to be much choice.

Following her outside with folded arms, he forgot his effectual moping at the first chance of wildlife and slipped into form, shooting her a proud smirk.

"Watch this."

It was not the most opportune time for him to choose to show off, but she couldn't say she wasn't impressed when he darted into the foliage with a savage growl and returned not a minute later with not one, but two, rabbits. In this form he was considerably intimidating; at full strength, he would have been a positively terrifying last sight for any creature.

The way he tore into them incited in her a sympathy for the rabbits and for herself, knowing she would be the one to wash the blood stains from his white shirt. As to why he didn't go after larger game, she didn't blame him for scarfing down the first thing in sight. In fact, she had a lingering suspicion that he was far from finished.

"Much better," he sighed after dropping the corpses. "But I could do without the fur in my mouth."

"I'm afraid I can't do much about that."

He froze, stooped over his first two victims in a feral sort of way, and straightened. When he turned to face her, the look in his eyes was distant and difficult to place. Together with the disarray of blood around his mouth, reddening his lips, it sent a chill up her spine.

"What's wrong?" she cautioned.

Head cocked to the side, he brandished a menacing set of teeth when he smiled.

"Why, I've been so inconsiderate. Look at me, where are my manners? I haven't even said thank you."

The way he was coming towards her brought to mind the word _stalking_.

"Unnecessary. You don't—"

"Oh, but I do. Allow me, if you will, to show you the true power of the greatest race to have ever set foot on earth. Think of it…as an honor. My gift to you." Circling her now, he came up behind her and leaned in, lips mere centimeters from the skin of her ear. "I think you'll like it."

This was not going as swimmingly as she'd expected. Fingertips stretching for the edge of the pistol in her coat, she cursed herself for not having foreseen this. A predator's instincts…how could she have expected any starved creature, even Nikola, to resist them? Next to a deer, she was by far the better prospect. She should have known.

"Nikola, don't do this. This isn't you."

In front of her, now, he caught her hand before she could get a sound grip and picked the gun off of her. "On the contrary," he goaded, holding her gaze as he threw the weapon flippantly to the side, "this is very much who I really am. I don't think you'll be needing that, do you?"

"Nikola, wait. You don't want to—"

"Oh, Helen. Don't go getting cold feet on me, now. This is a chance for you to experience something grand…think of all you could learn. It'd be like living pure history."

As he said it, he traced a lingering claw along the line of her jaw: a gesture that, in its gentleness, startled her. She wasn't sure when it started, whether it was his touch or his proximity, but something inside of her shifted that shouldn't have.

"Think about this, Nikola," reasoned Helen. "We _are_ living history. Think of what we have to _lost_." Trying desperately to appeal to his logical mind, to distract him even for a moment from his physical desires, to make him _think_, she could feel something very odd start to come over her and knew she was working on a limited schedule. "Your ideas about reviving your race…consider that there was a _reason_ they were driven to extinction in the first place."

Something sparked, and she could have cried for that little bit of relief. He took the bait. …but this wasn't over.

"_Greed_ and a human predilection for destroying all things in the path of advancement, no matter how valuable, given no thought or _mercy_…human stupidity: that is what destroyed my race," he snarled.

She had to keep talking, to keep him talking. Talking was good—it alluded to thinking.

"Wouldn't you say we earned our chance at freedom? Nikola, what purpose does it serve to wipe out all of our own advancement? You'd only be repeating history, and we both know where that road leads."

"The so-called advancements of your race are _nothing_ in comparison to that of my ancestors. Imagine, Helen, the glorious—"

"They enslaved humans. It's abhorrent."

"For their own good, believe me. How presumptuous of you, seeing as your own society just barely escaped that injustice by a fraction of a few years."

"But we _did—_"

"Shh-h," he coaxed, stepping to her and making no point to hide the fact he was eyeing her, drinking her in. The way he looked at her made her tremble, but not of fear. For this, she took a second to be shocked at herself.

"Listen to me, Helen," purred Tesla almost seductively, "you're missing a small but very important detail. Your little race enslaved _themselves_, segregated, isolated, committed persecution on themselves and still do. It hinders them from ever reaching a level even close to the progress of the Sanguine _vampiris_. Vampires conquered _humans_ practically out of charity, and it was very much a win-win situation. For centuries, peace and prosperity presided."

"Slavery is immoral no matter the circumstance. Humans did not rise up and revolt against their captors because they _enjoyed_ slavery. The whole premise that founded the Sanctuary is based on an equal opportunity for every individual, abnormal or otherwise. We're just fighting for survival, Nikola. At least give us that."

Blue met blue, but he wasn't himself. "It's that line of thinking that tears worlds apart just as easily, Helen. Tell me, what would happen if you were to reveal to the world the existence of abnormals?"

She hesitated, and he smirked.

That expression almost did her in. She could have kissed him where he stood, wrapped her arms around his neck and….where had this feeling come from?

Interesting. Though there was no denying that he was an attractive individual, she'd certainly never experienced something like _this…_at this magnitude, at such an inopportune time…not even for John.

Unless it wasn't entirely natural…

A type of pheromone? Something touch-transferrable?

It made sense; from an evolutionary standpoint, it would most definitely aid in the capture and kill of prey.

Dear God, but she'd never been this attracted to a man in all her life. It was difficult to fight.

…and it had been so long since she'd…she stopped herself. This was getting her nowhere.

"Nikola," she said, and she couldn't quite keep a tremor from showing in her voice. "What are you doing?"

"Saying thank you. The honor is all yours."

His lips, at once cold and hot, were on her neck. She tensed. Her heart fluttered. He travelled downwards. Under her sudden clutch at his back, his body slammed into hers and she felt his breath.

She was mildly aware of a crisp breeze flickering past, but that was before he wetted his lips and she felt the tip of his tongue graze the edge of her skin.

It was too much. Whatever this impulse was, it was stronger than her will and his put together. Although she should have been terrified, she wanted nothing more in that moment that for him to sink into her and taste her.

"Nikola?" One last entreaty, and her defenses were falling fast.

He merely glanced at her, and she took that as a sign to continue.

These could have been her last words. She could have said anything.

_"Tell John I said not to be angry," "You better as hell plan on attending my blooding funeral," _or even, _"I'm sorry."_

Instead, she said, "Isn't this a little too ironic for you?"

/

She was quaking in his arms, clawing at his back and sliding a hand up to the nape of his neck. Her eyes were screwed shut and her mouth was slack.

Helen was panting.

It might have seemed strange to him, might have incited an ounce of curiosity or concern, but he was much too transfixed on whatever was drawing him to her and on the sound of the rush of her blood in his ears.

He could smell her arousal, her excitement, and could only imagine what that would taste like.

When he licked his lips he caught her flesh on his tongue and he heard her whimper as she melted into him, clinging to his neck and bearing her own.

How convenient. He never expected her to be so…forthcoming, although he was rather used to his victims falling at his feet.

"Nikola…?" she asked breathily, hot in his ear. He could tell she was hanging onto the very last vestiges of her control.

Glancing at her, he wondered how long it was that he'd dreamt of his name, like _that_, from her lips.

"Isn't this a little too ironic for you?" she gasped.

For a moment, he was confused. Irony?

But her meaning was not hard to follow; she meant the source blood. A vampire feasting on the blood that created him thusly. It was ironic. …but not enough to stop him.

In fact, he couldn't wait to know what flavor her longevity's origin would add.

He favored her a moment, looking over the way she trembled, appreciating the beauty of what was about to happen. And then he bit into her.

His teeth slid under her dermal layer so easily, and he revered that softness. The moment he did it, he felt her flinch and something tugged at the back of his mind, but then her blood pooled into the corners of his mouth and he couldn't get enough of her.

It was perfect. She was just the right amount of sweet counteracted by an impeccable bitter tang, brimming with the chemical of her emotions with an undeniably delectable texture, and it was so irrevocably and categorically _her_ that he found himself lost for a moment, savoring the art and story of her life as it slid smoothly down his throat.

She came alive to writhe against him, moaning weakly not from pain, and her hands fisted in his hair and dug into his scalp with astonishing ferocity. Her grip directed him to go deeper, and he obliged her with pleasure.

Something still bit at him from somewhere beyond how incredible it felt to have Helen's blood in his.

Moaning? That had to be it. Helen moaning? Whimpering? Panting?

Helen _Magnus?_ Not likely.

Something was very wrong. She was draped over him, holding onto him like she wanted him…and that it itself was impossible enough to slip through was compelled him in her taste.

Her _taste_. Her blood.

He froze, choking on his next swallow, and the horror of what dawned on him set him off balance.

What the _bloody hell_ was he doing?

Ripping away from her, he felt her sag into him and felt the warmth of her blood on his chin. For perhaps the first time in his life, he was disgusted with himself.

Lot of good _genius_ did him, now.

"Splendid. Great. Just great. Helen…? He—"

She caught him by the mouth, pressing a jagged kiss into the center of his lips that smeared their faces in blood when she twisted to gain entrance past his teeth. For as long as it took for her to slip a cool hand under his waistcoat, he drew a blank.

It was something he'd only ever dreamed about, that Helen would one day grab him by the collar and kiss him passionately on the mouth. …but not like this. Somehow, he'd always imagined that moment followed by or following a good Pinot noir and not a bloodbath.

When she more or less fell away and he saw the browning stains smudged over the bottom half of her face, his stomach churned and he felt a tad sick. There was no point on denying that she was starting to worry him.

"Dammit," he remarked, loudly. For lack of a better term, this sucked. "So then, this would be the part where you tell me how you're feeling, because let me tell you, you're not quite at your sexiest I'm afraid."

She mumbled something into his shoulder before her knees buckled, and he caught her with at least some gratitude towards his vampire genetics for the reflex.

"Sorry, can't say I feel the same. Although, I have to say, about how you look; I lied. You're definitely a knockout. In fact, I think you've found a new look. Near-death with a sprinkling of dirt and blood—it suits you." She didn't respond. No look of affront, no smile, no eye-roll.

Fantastic. She'd lost too much blood.

"Let's play doctor, shall we?"

He gathered her in his arms bridal-style and held her to his chest, cradling her as he sprinted with surreal speed towards the wing of her Sanctuary where he'd earlier seen something like an infirmary. Trust Magnus to have it at the highest floor.

Tesla was sure he passed other residents on the way, but none he cared to stop and ask.

"Don't let the bedbugs bite," he teased, settling her onto the white sheets and struggling to prep an IV. This would have been much easier if one of her drones was here to do it, or if she was actually able to talk to him.

Impeccable timing, of course.

When something pricked his arm, he jumped away with a sharp "ow!" only to see something that very much caught him off-guard; Helen was leaned over her bed, half-conscious, and had stuck him with a syringe with which she was now drawing blood.

At first he thought "payback," until he remembered her original motive behind starving him before today. It wasn't revenge—it was research.

_Research._ Even now.

To help him, no less. Even now.

In that moment, he'd never admired another person as much in his entire lifetime than he did Helen Magnus.

/

Everything was a bit hazy, but she was remotely positive that the beeping sound she kept hearing was real. It was like a symphony in her head, and it was inexorably unpleasant.

"What on earth is that…sound?" A cricket?

Her own voice sounded hoarse and weak. If there was even anyone around to have heard her, there was no possibility of them having heard. Despite this, she held her breath.

Distinctly, she heard the sound of glass breaking, followed by footsteps. Something else crashed, and there was a muffled string of curses before she felt a hand on her forehead.

"Helen?" She knew that voice.

"Nikola. Oh, please tell me you aren't breaking anything expensive."

"I…only a little." She groaned. "But nevermind that, how are you?"

"Well enough to know that if you're knocking things over because I bat an eyelash, then this must've been rather wretched."

He was breathing loudly, holding onto her wrist like she was liable to disappear. After cracking her eyes open, she was witness to a foggy version of his frown.

"Well…?" she prompted. "Am I really _that_ bad a patient?" There were blood stains all down his front.

"Actually…yes. You were all kinds of hell, right from the start. Although I admit my specialty isn't in medicine, I don't think you liked me trying to do your job very much." He smiled a little, arresting her with a flash of teeth. "Not to worry, though. I put my brilliant mind to use and controlled the situation in a matter of minutes. The first time, anyway. By the way, you still look incredible."

His teeth…

She scoffed. "Don't sugarcoat things. Tell me honestly, what happened?"

"I never sugarcoat things. You are an exquisitely radiant woman who I find unendurably attractive. It's a fact."

"And you are an exquisitely stubborn man who I find unendurably tiresome. Now get on with it."

"Charming would be the word you're looking for."

"_Nikola,_ would you _please—_"

"Focus, yes. I know. Alright. If you don't recall, you stuck me with a needle, tried to choke me, which I don't think was a very well-thought-out plan of action, I might add, and then begged me to bed you."

"Excuse me?" Of all the irrational opportunities to drag humor into the situation…

Except, he didn't follow his little act with a characteristic grin. On the contrary, he began checking her pulse.

"Dear Lord, you can't be serious."

"Indeed I am. You're quite the temptress, Helen."

"You don't mean we…"

"Good heavens, no. You'd hardly be alive if we had. …because of your previous condition, not because I… You know, you really are an implacable woman, very obstinate when you don't get your way. Very persuasive. The things you said to me…you've no idea how—"

"Nikola, do _not_ finish that sentence." She had no way of knowing whether he was telling her the whole truth or his own twisted version of it, and she had reason to believe it was very much the latter of the two. Her patience was wearing thinner by the minute.

"Suit yourself," he shrugged.

"Now…why is it that I don't recall any of this?"

"I suspect that would be because of the shock."

"The…shock?"

"Yes, well, I wouldn't be so surprised. You did lose a massive quantity of blood." Strange, but he sounded almost apologetic.

_Blood…_

"And, do you mind telling me—"

"How it happened? My, what else don't you recall?" She could sense his mind at work; he practically oozed secrecy. It didn't settle well amongst her thoughts.

"Well, I was hoping you'd be the one to tell _me_."

Hesitation was never a good sign coming from Nikola Tesla, but he hesitated nonetheless.

"Nikola," she chastised, "what is it that you don't want to tell me?"

"Promise you won't be angry?" His plea raised her suspicions as well as her eyebrows.

"Should I be?"

"That depends on how you look at it."

"Just tell me," she said curtly, an edge of frustration in her tone.

"If you insist. …I may have introduced you to Count Dracula, as it were."

"I thought you hated that novel. In fact, I believe you wrote to Bram Stoker directly to complain of its…disgrace and indecency."

He shrugged unhelpfully. "I do. I thought it was a fitting comparison."

A fitting comparison? Since when had he resorted to self-degradation? "Martyrdom doesn't suit you."

"That wasn't martyrdom, that was a hint."

"A _hint?_" Helen scoffed. "Can we please do without the riddles? Tell me outright, what happened? Given our prior arrangement, your vampiric transformation does not come as a surprise. Are you—"

_Prior arrangement. The syringe._ She remembered plunging it into his arm, remembered him carrying her here, remembered the tantalization of his…dear God. A hand to her neck revealed a stiffness; he'd covered the mark with a bandage.

A wave of nausea had her sucking in a lengthy breath, and she could tell he saw the change in her features and knew when he wouldn't meet her eye. He could've killed her; she had nearly died by his hand. It was an unrelenting truth: one that neither of them could take back or undo.

Suddenly, the distance between them was struck with an almost palpable tension, a feeling that was irreparable. This was not something that could be remedied through idle banter, as much as she hated to acknowledge it.

This had hit home for him, though she knew she'd never get it out of him as straightforward as that. Helen could surmise from his silence that he was feeling poorly about it, because this was much more than just a blow to his pride.

It meant he was officially dangerous, and not just when he wanted to be. He was dangerous when he didn't want to be, dangerous to everyone: a danger he couldn't control, an issue he couldn't combat with intellect.

Helen knew firsthand how much he hated not having the upper hand, especially following the incident with Edison's insincerity. Not having control was not his style; even with their meetings, he was the one to determine the circumstances of how and where—the one to show up on her doorstep and practically demand assistance.

"Nikola…" she said slowly, testing him for a reaction. He gave none save to turn from her, giving her his back as he fixated on something at the countertop, and it was then that she knew this wasn't going to be easy. "Why don't you give me your take on all this?"

He merely huffed. "I thought you'd never ask."

His attitude didn't bode well for the direction of their conversation, though she had her doubts about whether or not they'd ever really been on civil terms. This time, he was determined to be as tight-lipped as possible.

"This would be a lot simpler if you'd just answer the question," she sighed.

"The way I see it, it _is_ simple. I was hungry, I wanted you, I nearly killed you. It doesn't get much simpler, Helen."

"You didn't kill me, Nikola."

"And Carbon is a nonmetal that bonds in a one-to-four ratio."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, you mean we weren't resorting to stating the obvious?"

"Nikola, be reasonable."

"You should have known better than to expect me to play nice."

"Unfortunately, I do."

"Good. Then you know I won't resort to further questioning."

"Oh, no. I will not allow you to go and isolate yourself in some corner of the world, or worse, in some corner of my labs, and pout about this. If you blow up anything on my property, I will personally see to it that you will be banned from this Sanctuary for the next decade and a half."

He turned back to her, almost smirking, but it wasn't the same. "Not even a tiny little electro-radon particle wave synthesizer?"

"Does it make things explode?"

"Depending on the rotation, maybe."

"No."

"Helen—"

"No."

He crossed his arms, looking displeased. For a moment, he glared unceremoniously. Then, he tried to slink his way to the door. "Alright, fine. You need to be resting. So, tell you what, how about you have a nice repose, and when you wake up, come find me and we'll have a chat."

"No, do _not—_" He was already out the door. "Damn."

Knowing Tesla, there was no way he'd stick around long enough to have a chat. If he wanted to, he could fashion a solution from his own blood sample and be across the nation in a few hours. She didn't even once doubt his brilliance.

"Cheeky blighter."

/

He should not have come here, should not have sought out her help. He should have left well enough alone.

Helen had her own problems to contend with; she didn't need to be taking a week out of her precious Sanctuary time to be attending to his needs, as if he really needed her help.

Her time wasn't really the issue, however. What hurt the most, what really stung, was that he'd betrayed whatever delicate trust they'd had to begin with and threatened her life. He'd put her directly into the lion's den without a second thought, and as a consequence he'd injured her much the same way John had.

It was revolting, really. If there was anyone he loathed, anyone besides the man by the name of Thomas Edison, it was John Druitt. Not for taking Helen, because _that_ he had tolerated at least for her sake, but for hurting her. For lying to her—to all of them. For ripping the Five apart with every stroke of his blade. _Ripping._ It was what he did best.

The supposed similarity, a sickening echo to the past, was difficult to swallow.

Not only that, but he'd betrayed his race as well. Undoubtedly, he hadn't lived up to the expectations. He would never be able to tap into their ancient ability and sophistication with such lack of control, would never discover the secrets stored away in their uses of blood and language, would never master their techniques. At this rate, reviving his race in perfection seemed hopeless. He was a half-blood, and it showed.

Mainly and most importantly, what all of this truly culminated as in his mind, glaringly obvious, was failure. The concept of failure: failure to achieve anything meaningful on a personal level, which it was. It was _very_ personal.

Nikola Tesla did not do well with failure. It was a matter he took rather personally.

Halfway through his third bottle of red, he noted in abandon that the first catch to his immortal gift was not the bloodlust; it was the physical inability to intoxicate himself—to get damn well bloody piss-drunk when he wanted to.

Under normal circumstances he counted this as a stroke of genius luck, but not now.

Now, he wanted to drown out every thought he'd ever had, every spark of injustice, every ounce of knowledge surrounding the shattered and imbalanced world in which he was forced to reside, forever. Additionally, he wanted to exorcise all thoughts of the way Helen had held him, the way she'd fought and lost, the way she'd kissed him, the way she'd tasted.

It made his fangs itch, even now.

He finished the rest of the bottle in three quaffs, turned it around in contemplative appreciation, and then threw it.

Somewhere in the street below where he stood, a distant smash accompanied by a whinny.

She'd told him not to explode things. But he wanted to throw things. He wanted to hurl all he owned at the world with every modicum of strength he possessed and dare it to do him any worse.

He was an immortal, incomparable, natural genius, a master of acumen, a vampire. He'd seen his life work burn, had seen his greatest insights stolen from under his nose, had once dug ditches for two cents per day, had seen his damn-near soulmate courted by another man, had taken lives.

What else?

What was the point, if even his own brilliance failed him? If even world domination was too high a cause?

At this rate, he'd be utterly bored with the whole affair within a century.

/

By the time Helen picked herself out of bed, it was in the early stages of evening. There was no sign of Tesla, and she feared the worst in his absence—the worst being that he'd run off again to some remote hole in some part of the world form which he would not emerge for at least another thirty years. Rather than look for him, however, she focused on analyzing his strain of blood.

She'd much prefer attaining a result for his initial problem to stirring up the hornets' nest, in case he'd actually decided to wait around and she stumbled upon him in one of his moods.

Helen knew better than to attempt to reason with him when he was like this. He did it once every few years: went off into an existentialist spiral and ranted about a range of similar topics, all of them depressing. The man was full of melodrama. Even when he was feeling sorry for himself, he was a pompous and selfish fool.

If she wasn't mistaken, she could almost be sure that this had set him off again.

As for the answer to his dilemma, it was so completely apparent it was almost funny. The tests and preparation took longer than the analysis and the conclusion itself, and what accounted for most of her waiting was the actual derivation and fabrication of an effective serum: a medication originating from a string of the necessary nutrients extracted from the plasma of certain animals. After all of their fumbling in the dark, it turned out that her leap of faith had actually led her straight to the heart of the solution.

In truth, she was grateful for the haste, because it meant she might be capable of removing Tesla from her hair even sooner than expected. At least as long as it was on her terms.

After only a few hours, she had a cure to his affliction stuffed in a pocket of her robe and was making her way down to the wine cellar. If there was anywhere he was most likely to be, that was her best guess.

Sometimes she wished he'd give her some form of advanced notice for these little visits so that she had time enough to prepare herself for a full-on decimation of her stock in wine.

Surprisingly, he was not where she'd originally thought, although there were certainly signs of his former presence. Her next guess was the labs, but he seemed determined to stay hidden. He was not in her office, not in the kitchen, not in her bedroom, and not in the basement.

Helen was beginning to rethink her approach to the matter; considering the sheer size of the building that housed her organization, she might be in need of orchestrating a search-party. That was, of course, before she climbed the stairs to the rooftop.

As was generally the case with most objects, he was in the last place she looked. And he'd made a right mess of it, too.

"Good heavens, Nikola, what in God's name are you doing?" The moment she opened the door, she had to jump back when a blurry flock of pigeons scattered pell-mell in front of her. The scene they left behind was covered in scraps, shards, and feathers. When she took her first step forward, she paused at the crunch of glass underfoot.

He was silhouetted against the night sky, and she couldn't be sure if he was looking at her or not.

"Nikola…?"

"Helen. Good of you to join me, but you should be asleep. Do you have any idea what time it is? I thought not. Mind answering a question?"

Not quite certain what she was getting herself into, she nodded. "Of course."

He paused, and she took that time to cross over to where he was and stand at his side.

"During my unfortunate encounter with…"

"Yes, go on."

"You had a pistol."

"You want to know if—"

"If you really would have shot me, yes."

She considered a moment and assured him with a slight smile and a touch to the arm. "Would you really have siphoned all my blood out and left me for dead?"

Though she expected him to be pained, he seemed amused. "Clever. _That's_ not an answer to my question."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

"That's rhetoric, Helen. I didn't kill you."

"And I didn't shoot you."

"Carbon, and all that."

"Yes, you're suggesting a hypothetical situation, I'm aware. But what happened…happened. It could not have happened differently."

He shifted, quoting her. "I wouldn't be so sure."

When she made no immediate attempt to answer, he switched tactics. His mood changed visibly, slipping into a very Tesla-like coolness. "Congratulations on finding me. Now, the question is, why were you looking for me?"

Looking at him sidelong, monitoring his reaction, she slid a hand into her pocket. Before she left this in his possession, she needed him to know that this wasn't his fault in any way. She needed for him to know that she still had faith in his ability. "A serum. From the plasma of certain animals, mainly goats."

"Ah, so soon?"

"It was…fairly straightforward, actually."

"Brilliance looks marvelously sensual on you, have I ever told you that?"

"We can review the regimen later, but…before I hand this over to you…" She had his rapt attention in the form of a fond stare. "I need to tell you something."

"I'm listening."

He seemed sincere enough. "I would like you to know that I in no way resent what happened. As it stands, you have my trust. I need you to know that this does nothing to alter our relationship."

"Your trust, Helen?"

"Everyone makes mistakes. Given that we have more than a few lifetimes ahead of us, I do believe we're allowed more than a few good ones."

He waved a mocking finger. "You say that now…"

"I mean it, Nikola."

"Of course you do…I love it when you're forgiving."

There was a hint of bitterness somewhere in his remark that she suspected was aimed at John, but she decided to ignore it. She didn't expect him to understand the separation between forgiveness and vindication, and it might have been better that way.

"So…you trust me?" It awarded him a kind glance.

"To an extent, yes. Don't let it go to your head."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he grinned. "So, when I say I love you…"

"I wouldn't take it quite that far."

His grin faded somewhat, and she couldn't help but think it was somehow a bit humorous. "You don't believe me? Not even a little bit?"

"I…believe you believe yourself."

He presented her with a saucy look. "Well, that's disappointing. Sure I can't change your mind?"

At once, he had escalated their proximity to a mere breadth apart and was twirling a lock of her hair around a single, slender finger. If anything, she had to admire his perseverance.

"Nikola, before I give this to you, I would like you to promise me something."

He didn't back up in the slightest, but he looked attentive. "Just say the word."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at him, she continued. "Actually, two somethings."

With his eyes boring into hers, the intensity was a bit striking. His smirk, however, was back in full force. "Your wish is my command. Do go on."

"Promise me that you will never feed on humans again," she demanded softly, watching something flit across his expression.

He crossed his heart in emphasis. "If you so desire."

Now he was just ridiculing her. She caught him in a stern look, caught his hands in hers, and beseeched him. "Promise me."

"I promise, Helen," he repeated, a little more serious. "What else?"

"Promise me that the next time you say to me that you love me, you'll mean it."

It had nothing to do with him, really, but she couldn't stand the blatant ignorance and impertinence in his hypocrisy, however unintentional. Not after John. Not after she had seen an entire lifetime of planned and secured happiness fade around her like the remnants of a dream, all due to that very same flaw. Neither knew the parameters of what they promised her, of what the word they employed was meant for, and in their hands it was a weapon.

He looked devilish. "I love you."

Sighing, she shook her head sadly. "Sorry, Nikola. But promise me. Promise that the next time you say those words to me, you'll not only mean it but you'll know what it means."

Eyebrows on the rise, he supplied her with a toothy grin. "And will you have something to promise me in return?"

She knew what he was getting at. She knew what he wanted. But before he understood what he was saying to her, and so soon after John…

Seeing her reluctance, he let her off with a chuckle. "No, you don't have to. I promise. But, I have to know…what happens if I break one of these little pacts, hmm?"

"You'll regret it." At his expression, a little taken aback, she winked. "I'll think of something."

"Oh, I like the sound of that. But I have a better proposition."

Inclining her chin, she regarded him. "What do you mean?"

"I think you'll like the idea. See, according to you, you weren't going to shoot me, and I wasn't going to kill you. Therefore, trust. You follow? So I'm thinking—and this is the brilliant part—the next time I betray that trust…if I don't make good on my word, I mean…well, go ahead and shoot me."

"Nikola, _really?_"

"Really. Won't hurt a bit. Well…maybe a little bit. Vampire, remember?"

Somehow, she couldn't deny that the prospect was inviting. There had been countless times she'd wanted to put a bullet in his chest…and it wasn't as if it would really put much of a dent in his life expectancy.

"Right. You have yourself a deal, Nikola."

"Splendid. Here's to hoping you never have to shoot me, then."

Before handing him the injection, she flashed a rare smile. "Let's hope."


End file.
